Identity

by Nancy Ann Healy

  IDENTITY

  An Alex and Cassidy Novel

  Nancy Ann Healy

  © Copyright 2019 Bumbling Bard Creations

  All Rights Reserved.

  This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced without permission.

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  PROLOGUE

  WASHINGTON DC

  May 1, 1956

  “It’s a new era.”

  “Officially.”

  “Oh, come now, Alexander. You should be celebrating.”

  “Should I?”

  “The president is dancing.”

  “Dancing. It isn’t the first time we opened Pandora’s Box.”

  “Developing a conscience?” Gabriel laughed. “None of us can afford that, Alexander.”

  “There will come a time, Gabriel, when we will be called to account for what we have begun. There always comes a time.”

  “What we have done? Protect the people from the burden of the world? Light their way?”

  “Light their way with torches we cannot extinguish,” Alexander said.

  “We have control.”

  “For now.”

  “What would you have us do? Stop the wheels of progress from spinning?”

  “I’m not sure that what we have begun will always be viewed as progress,” Alexander replied.

  “It will be perceived the way we tell people they should perceive it.”

  “I suppose history will be the judge.”

  Gabriel laughed. “History isn’t written by judges and jurors. Barristers and journalists tell it. We make the case that we want people to hear.”

  “Profiting from—”

  “Someone will always profit,” Gabriel said. “And someone will always suffer. You and I did not create the suffering.”

  “We are not alleviating it either,” Alexander replied.

  “You don’t think so?”

  “You do?”

  “Do you honestly believe people would be happier if we told them the truth? You don’t truly think the truth will set anyone free? The truth, Alexander, stares each one of us in the eye every day. It’s there, in plain sight. People don’t see it because they don’t want to face it—to accept that they create all the troubles and woes, all the suffering you are suddenly concerned about. Either because they inflict it, or because they ignore it. People do not want the truth, Alexander. It is far more painful than the lie.”

  “How can we know that if we don’t let them choose?”

  “Who says they don’t? Did someone force you to be here?” Gabriel asked. “The world doesn’t happen. We create it.” He paused and considered what to tell his friend. “My father told me a story once about a young man who worked as a farmer when war broke out in his homeland. The man had no allegiance to either of the warring nations. He was not a patriot nor a defector. He was a farmer, living a simple life, oblivious to the cruelty of the world. When the war descended on his community, he watched as they slaughtered his neighbors. They had become caught in the crossfire. The young man continued to farm what he could until one day they came for him. They took him away for no other reason than walking in the field. He organized an escape for the work camp where he’d been confined. He freed twenty people. He was no longer a farmer. He left the countryside and made his life in a new country. There, he became a mason, and then he became a soldier. Years later, he unknowingly laid the foundation for what was to become one of the most notorious death camps in history. That man was my father. Would you convict him for what he did not see, or would you reward him for what he accomplished? Someone will always convict, and someone will always reward. That is not a question.”

  “Gabriel,” Alexander began. “This is not about conviction or reward. It isn’t about exoneration either. We are playing the role of liberator and oppressor every day to line the pockets of people who do not care to see the toll.”

  “That is what the world demands to keep order.”

  “That is what we tell our children?”

  Gabriel said nothing.

  “I hope our children are stronger than we have been,” Alexander said. “That they don’t fear what they see, and that they know they can make set a different course than what we leave to them.” He stood and put his hand on the door. “Our fathers were once enemies, Gabriel—who became the best of friends. I pray our children find the same strength to forgive us.”

  CHAPTER ONE

  NEW YORK CITY

  Claire Brackett listened to her boss and grumbled. “This is ridiculous.”

  “Claire,” Alex warned her. Alex didn’t blame her partner’s visible annoyance. For months, they were placed on cases that Alex considered routine at best. Mundane was a better description. It was insulting. Alex couldn’t figure out the reason they were relegated to simple investigations. She also understood that silence and compliance were her allies. Questioning Assistant Director Geraldine Walsh’s directives would only diminish their chances of landing a case they could sink their teeth into.

  “Why did we leave the CIA again?” Claire whispered.

  Alex couldn’t help but chuckle.

  “Something amusing, Agent Toles?” Walsh inquired.

  “No, ma’am.”

  Walsh glared at the pair of agents sitting in the corner of the conference room. “Glad to hear it.”

  Alex kicked Claire under the table.

  “That better not leave a mark,” Claire muttered.

  Alex forced herself not to laugh. Please, just let me get through this day.

  WESTPORT, CONNECTICUT

  “Mackenzie,” Cassidy’s voice warned.

  “Mom!” Mackenzie whined in protest.

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  Cassidy held her breath and counted backward from five to zero. “I said no. That’s all you need to know.”

  “It’s not fair.”

  “No, I suppose it isn’t.”

  “Then why can’t I go?” Mackenzie questioned her mother.

  “Mommy!”

  Cassidy’s eyes snapped shut. “Tell me again why we had five?” she muttered.

  “Mom!” Mackenzie called out.

  “Mommy!” another voice rang out.

  “Give me strength,” Cassidy begged, unsure of who might hear her plea. She took another deep breath and looked at the three faces staring at her expectantly. She held up a finger to Connor and Abby, then turned back to Mackenzie. “The answer is no, Kenz. Please, don’t ask me again.”

  “Mom would let me.”

  Don’t scream, Cassie. Just don’t scream. A strained smile graced Cassidy’s lips. “No, Mackenzie.” She watched as her daughter trotted off mumbling to herself. One more deep breath. How many would she need before this day ended? Cassidy looked at the twins. “Okay, what do you need?”

  “Abby stole the Legos!” Connor complained.

  “Did not.”

  “Did too.”

  Five, four, three, two, one. “I’m sure your sister didn’t steal your Legos, Connor.”

  “She did!”

  “Did not!” Abby yelled.

  Okay. Ten, nine, eight, seven—

  “Mommy!” Connor and Abby called for Cassidy’s attention in unison.

  “How about you play with something other than Legos for a while?” Cassidy suggested.

  “Like what?” Connor groaned.

  I have no idea. Cassidy smiled. “Why don’t you work on
the puzzle Dylan got you?”

  Connor groaned.

  Abby shrugged. “Okay,” she said. She grabbed her brother’s arm. “Mommy’s done,” she whispered.

  Cassidy giggled when Abby led Connor away. Mommy was done. She grabbed her phone from her jean’s pocket when it buzzed. “Hello?”

  “Sounds like your day is going better than mine.”

  “Candace?”

  “That’s me,” Candace Reid answered. “Am I interrupting something?”

  “You mean other than squabbles and complaints? No.”

  “Uh-oh. That kind of day, huh?”

  “You know, it never ceases to amaze me that I can want to throttle them one moment and in the next, I find myself laughing.”

  “I seem to recall those days. I think I had one yesterday,” Candace replied.

  Cassidy laughed. “So, Madame President, is this a social call or a call to arms?”

  “Both?”

  “Oh, do tell.”

  Candace hated to dive into these waters. She’d only been in office a little over a month and issues were piling up on her desk. Normally, she called Cassidy to discuss a speech or as a diversion. Today, she needed something else.

  “Uh-oh.” Cassidy surmised by the lingering silence both the president and her best friend needed something. “What can I do?”

  “Honestly?”

  “Yes.”

  “I know this is last minute. I was hoping you might consider flying down here.”

  “Do you need me, or do you need Alex and Claire?”

  “I do need Alex. It’s more than that, and it’s not a conversation for the phone.”

  “That good, huh?”

  “I could use to see a friendly face—one that isn’t asking me to settle a squabble, lodging a complaint, or asking me to pay for anything.”

  “I’ll talk to Alex when she gets home.”

  “Cassidy, if you need to bring the kids—”

  “No,” Cassidy said.

  “Need a break?”

  “God, help me—yes. Want to trade lives for a week?” Cassidy joked.

  “Oh, tough one,” Candace conceded. Dealing with her staff often reminded her of handling a house full of toddlers. She occasionally wondered if she’d taken a job in the world’s largest daycare. “Can I think about it?”

  Cassidy laughed again, grateful for Candace’s friendship. “Sure.”

  “Listen, I appreciate it. Do you think Alex will mind?”

  “No. It’ll give her a chance to spoil the kids. Candace?”

  “Yes?”

  “Is there something I should know before I get there?”

  “There are so many things, Cassidy; I don’t know where to begin. Right now, I need my best friend.”

  “I’ll make it happen.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I think I might be the one who needs to thank you this time,” Cassidy said.

  “I guess we’ll see,” Candace said. “Thursday too soon? You can be back by Friday evening. Unless you want to stay longer.”

  Cassidy chuckled. “Don’t tempt me.”

  “Well, if it matters, I would love for you to stay the weekend.”

  “I’ll see what I can do. Will there be wine?”

  “Bottles,” Candace deadpanned.

  Cassidy laughed. “Magic words,” she said. “I’ll see you on Thursday.” She plopped onto the sofa with a thump. Apparently, she wasn’t the only person struggling to juggle a million priorities and personalities. “This should be interesting.”

  NEW YORK CITY

  “What did you do to Walsh to make her hate us?” Claire asked Alex.

  “What did I do?”

  “Yeah. Did you blow her off or something?”

  Alex rolled her eyes. “No.”

  “Come on, Alex. You and Walsh were rookies at the bureau together. Something must’ve happened for her to hate you so much.”

  Alex didn’t know what Assistant Director Walsh’s problem was with her or with Claire. “I have no idea what her problem is. If it is her problem.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “For a genius, you sure don’t know much.”

  Alex looked at Claire and started laughing.

  “I’m glad you’re amused,” Claire said. “Seriously. Why could she possibly want to keep us off any case that has any meaning?”

  “Maybe the bigger question is who told her to keep us behind our desks.”

  Claire groaned.

  “What?” Alex asked.

  “Just something Hawk said a while back.”

  “What did Hawk say?”

  “Something about notoriety being a mixed-blessing.”

  Alex nodded. “More like a double-edged sword.”

  “Do you think someone is hip to your connection to Candace?”

  “Everyone knows we’re connected to the White House—both of us.”

  “Yeah, but the cases that have been falling aren’t connected to Washington. Why handcuff us to our desks?”

  “Everything is potentially tied to Washington. You know that,” Alex reminded her partner.

  “Maybe someone has it in for us—I mean for being friends with Candace and JD.”

  “I’m sure there are more than a few people who find our personal relationship with the First Family contemptible. Somehow, I don’t think political differences are responsible—just a bonus for our detractors.”

  Claire shook her head. “Fuckers.”

  “Poetic.”

  “Truth.” Claire sighed.

  “What are you thinking?” Alex asked.

  “I wonder if Tate has a clue.”

  “I think he’s got bigger fish to fry.”

  “And you call me a poet?” Claire replied.

  “What about Hawk?”

  “You know her. She’s trying to keep our personal life separate.”

  Alex laughed. “Good luck with that.”

  “No shit. I’ll bring it up—casually.”

  “Right.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Claire, your casual is like Ted Bundy calling himself a romantic.”

  Claire scrunched up her nose and flipped Alex the middle finger. “Fuck you, Alex.”

  Alex laughed. It never gets old.

  MOSCOW, RUSSIA

  “She intends to meet with Costin.”

  “What of it?”

  “Costin can be unpredictable, Pyotr.”

  “This is why we offer distraction, Nika. The new American president is—sympathetic, shall we say, to the plight of people. It is her Achilles Heel.”

  “I fear you may underestimate President Reid. I understand that she enjoys the friendship of the Spider.”

  Pyotr Gregorovich leaned back in his chair and offered the Russian president a smile. “Are you afraid of spiders, Nika?”

  Nika Kapralov was not amused. He was not a man who was given to the fairytales and ghost stories that fascinated many in his circle. He had walked in the shadows. Gregorovich had not. Kapralov’s ascension to power came despite the efforts of power brokers all over the world. His career as a KGB agent had trained him to see what others refused to acknowledge. Few people knew the depths to which Nika Kapralov had traveled. He found it ironic that so many in his circle minimized Candace Reid’s presidency as an anomaly, while they regarded his presidency as a remarkable achievement. Kapralov was not a man who looked upon his enemies with hatred or his allies with affection. He was a practical man—methodical and discerning. Every action he took, every meeting he held, and every alliance he made was calculated meticulously. Emotions had no place in the business of leadership. He could respect an ally or an adversary with equal measure. He had never worked with the Spider or the Sparrow. He did know that anyone who discounted their tenacity and ability was a fool. Kapralov leaned over his desk. “A spider is not something to fear,” he said. “Nor is a sparrow, a fox, a grasshopper, or a lynx. Each has a rol
e to play in the circle of life.”

  “Are we reading a children’s book, Nika?” Gregorovich chided.

  Kapralov nodded. “You do not grasp what we face,” he said.

  “I never took you as one for tall tales,” Gregorovich said.

  “I am not speaking of fairytales or ghost stories. This is not a nursery rhyme,” he said. “You think there is no purpose in what I’ve said.”

  “I think it is a folly.”

  “Do you?” Kapralov pushed out his chair and paced to the window beside his desk. “A spider will eat the grasshopper. And a sparrow will eat the spider. A fox will hunt the sparrow. And the lynx consume the fox.”

  Gregorovich chuckled.

  “Not a children’s book, Pyotr. Life. Have you ever taken the time to look at a spider’s web?”

  “I think you’ve spent too much time reading, Nika.”

  “I didn’t think so. Intricate, delicate, but strong.” Kapralov turned to Gregorovich. “I know only one spider whose web could ensnare the grasshopper, the sparrow, the fox, and the lynx—and somehow, command them all. Do not think you will so easily fool President Reid,” he said. “If she has fallen into this spider’s web, she is something much more than you believe.”

  “Alex Toles isn’t even on the playing field, Nika. Neither is the Sparrow.”

  Kapralov nodded. “Only a fool would believe that we have broken, the web Pyotr. Are you a fool?”

  Gregorovich swallowed hard.

  “Distraction will only afford us time. Make certain that Costin knows the web in which he resides.”

  “You worry too much.”

  “I am not worried,” Kapralov said. “I am vigilant. Be vigilant, Pyotr, or you may find yourself the spider’s prey.”

  WASHINGTON DC

  Candace Reid would never grow accustomed to confronting the ugly reality that people chose to cause harm to others for political or financial gain. She’d addressed terrorist plots, police brutality, gang violence, state-sanctioned murders, and human trafficking over the course of her career. She’d never accepted any of it as part of the price of being human. The choice to oppress or persecute people infuriated Candace. She concentrated on the best humanity offered itself. Occasionally, she was forced to confront the depravity a human heart could hold. She shook her head with disgust.